


Let It Snow

by WritingQuill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Teenlock, Tumblr: letsdrawsherlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes back home for Christmas to find that John is still working as a gardner for his family. He has to deal with all these new feelings when they are snowed in together and John spends the night. </p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/587114"> Tinsel</a>, but can be read alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of my 12-part series with prompts from the Let's Write Sherlock Challenge 9, which you can find [here](http://writingquill.tumblr.com/post/70323099367/letswritesherlock-challenge-9-winter-ficlet). 
> 
> Today's prompt was "Snowed In".

As it turned out, Sherlock had had no choice but to come back for Christmas. It’d snowed heavily this year, however, so he spent most of his time holed up in his room, avoiding his family and working on his experiments. 

University proved to be the perfect place for him in the end. The anonymity meant he could be alone without being noticed, and even the few people whom he met were still irrelevant and easily deletable. So Sherlock had spent his first term going to the lectures that interested him, conducting experiments in his room, playing the violin, and smoking. Now he was back home, though, and boredom had set in once more. 

He looked out the window to watch as the snow fell. Large fat snowflakes rained like water, fast and utterly improbable, adding to the already white expansion of their gardens. The trees were all covered in white flakes and the ground was an immaculate white sheet that seemed to run for miles and miles. 

Near the pond, however, there were two figures working, chopping up trees and trimming the branches. Mr Cornelius (as Sherlock had finally forced himself to learn last Christmas) and… oh. Oh! 

John Watson. 

He hadn’t seen John Watson since… New Year’s Day last year, when he had come into work with Mr Cornelius to get the garden cleaned up after Mummy’s grand party. John had looked warm that day, smiling as always — he had talked to Sherlock, listened to Sherlock, not made any rude remarks about Sherlock’s intellect. In fact, John had seemed _happy_ to be around Sherlock, which was truly a novel feeling, and which still to this day brought warmth to Sherlock’s insides. 

Sherlock wondered if John had come to work during the summer. He himself hadn’t been to the estate in the summer because he went with his parents and brother to their summer home in Nice, but now Sherlock sort of… regretted it. Looking down the window, watching John work alongside Mr Cornelius as the snow fell around them, Sherlock wondered what it would have been like to be around John during the summer, when the sun shone on top of their heads, making John’s skin seem golden and his hair brighter than ever, surrounded by trees and flowers and — 

He stopped himself before those thoughts got any further. This was ridiculous, pining after a servant like some Mills & Boon heroine. Next he’ll be swooning over the Chesterfield. Sherlock walked away from the window with purpose and moved to leave the bedroom. He needed a cigarette badly, but he was sure to get caught under the watchful eyes of the staff, so he went for tea instead. Caffeine over nicotine. The thought alone made him despondent. 

Nanny was in the kitchen, nursing a cuppa and knitting as she watched the small telly that Mummy had allowed her to put there for the holiday staff. BBC News was on, and some blonde woman with a clearly very fake South London accent was talking about a snowstorm. 

‘Hello, dearie,’ greeted Nanny, smiling up at him. Sherlock nodded in her direction and walked over to the kettle. ‘There’s tea in the teapot, love, the kettle’s just boiled.’ 

So Sherlock set about making himself a cup of tea, pouring it in a cup, followed by a splash of milk, and then being quite liberal with the sugar. Nanny tutted at him for that, but he ignored her in lieu of sitting next to her on the table and watching the telly absentmindedly. That is, until there was a breaking news announcement for their area. 

‘“… due to the increasingly strong snowstorm, all roads in the area will be closed until further notice. The local MP urges the people to stay in their homes and not leave until it is safe…”’ she newsreader said. 

‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Nanny, ‘poor Mr Cornelius, he and John will have to stay here for the night, then.’ 

‘What?’ asked Sherlock, ungluing his eyes from the telly and looking over at Nanny. 

‘Well, yes, they can’t possibly leave if the roads are closed, can they? And Mister Mycroft won’t be able to come in today after all. It’s settled then. I’ll ask Bridget to cook a meal for four instead of two this evening.’ Nanny stood up, abandoning her half-finished purple hat and lukewarm tea, and walked out of the room, surely to go into the garden and warn Mr Cornelius about the snowstorm. Sherlock leant back against his chair and sighed. 

John would spend the night at the estate. Everyone in the staff was much too old for him to talk to. What if he wants to spend time with Sherlock? What if they have nothing to talk about? What if John loses that interest he seemed to have last Christmas?

So many questions, and really no answers. Sherlock shivered and gulped the last of his tea, hands trembling as they brought the teacup to his lips. 

◦

Sherlock walked down the stairs for the second time that evening, freshly out of the shower, dressed in casual clothes because he absolutely was not trying to impress anyone. It was almost half past six, so he was still early for dinner, but that was fine. He walked into the drawing room with an antique copy of _Psychopathia Sexualis_ he found at a second-hand bookshop near his campus at Cambridge, sat down and began to read from the page he had marked. A few minutes later, Nanny came into the room and put a hand on his shoulder. 

‘Time for supper, dearie. And be on your best behaviour, Mr Cornelius and John will be joining us.’ 

With a deep (if slightly trembling) sigh, Sherlock closed his book and stood up. They walked together to the kitchen, where Sherlock preferred to have his meals if his parents and brother weren’t present. Mr Cornelius and John were already there, chatting amicably about sports. The former noticed they had walked in and stood up, followed by John. 

‘Good evening, Mister Sherlock,’ he greeted. Sherlock nodded and looked at John. 

‘Hey, Sherlock. Long time no see,’ John said with a grin. And Sherlock was almost blinded by the light in his eyes. No, not the pining again. Sherlock had to suppress a groan. 

‘Hello.’ He sat down on his usual spot, which just happened to be next to John, and stared down at his plate. Bridget had cooked them a lovely-smelling risotto, and Sherlock was suddenly very hungry. 

They began to eat in silence. After a few minutes of cutlery against porcelain and modest chewing, Nanny broke the ice. 

‘It is rather lovely to have more people at the dinner table, isn’t it Sherlock?’ she smiled widely and Mr Cornelius chuckled. 

‘Well, it’s really of you to invite us in, that’s for sure,’ he said and Nanny blushed slightly. Sherlock smirked at that and re-focused on his food as the two of them got into their own little conversation. 

‘So how’s uni?’ asked John next to him. His eyes were bright and smiling as he ate his food carefully. Clearly he was trying very hard to seem as if he belonged there at the posh house with the posh china and the posh cutlery. Sherlock himself hated the lot of it and just wanted to throw it out the window. He wanted to look into John’s eyes for days. He wanted to kiss him. Wait. 

He cleared his throat before speaking. ‘It’s fine. People are dull, but the lectures are at least a bit interesting.’ At that, John let out an amused laugh. Not mocking, just full of mirth.

‘You’re really something,’ he said through a grin. ‘It’s a shame you weren’t here during the summer, I missed your deductions.’ 

That startled Sherlock. John had missed him. _John_ had missed him. John had _missed_ him. John had missed _him_. 

No, no. He had missed his deduction, not Sherlock himself. But still. Sherlock _was_ his deductions, he was his mind… John liked his mind. No one had ever liked his mind before. 

Sherlock wanted to say something nice, something deep, something meaningful and clever. He ended up with ‘yes, well…’ and they went on with dinner in silence. 

_I hate myself_ , Sherlock thought as he kicked himself mentally. 

The rest of supper was a quiet affair, and soon they were finished with dessert and coffee. Sherlock was about to go back to his room for a sulk when Nanny stopped him. 

‘Why don’t you show John your room, Sherlock? You’re almost the same age, surely you can entertain each other,’ she said, not really giving him any options as she and Mr Cornelius walked away to wherever they were going. Sherlock looked over a John who was putting his plate in the sink, and nodded. 

‘Fine, follow me John.’ He walked out of the kitchen, and John followed right behind. Not really giving a tour of the house, Sherlock simply stopped by the drawing room to pick up his book and then took them to his room and closed the door once John was inside. ‘Have a se—‘ 

‘Nice room. Bit untidy, isn’t it?’ John asked with a wink. He walked over to Sherlock’s desk and looked around ‘Are those… toenails?’ 

‘It’s an experiment!’ Sherlock exclaimed, standing between John and the table. Great, now he had done a good job at scaring him away. 

‘What could you possibly learn from toenails?’ asked John, looked a bit disgusted, but apparently more at the thought of toenails themselves rather than being put out by Sherlock. ‘Never mind, I don’t want to know.’ 

‘Aren’t your studying to become a doctor?’ Sherlock asked before being able to stop himself. Now he’d done it. Offending John was a great way of getting closer to him, job well done. 

Instead of getting angry, though, John laughed. ‘Yes, but feet are gross. They just look so weird with the little toes and the hairs. Sorry, but no thanks,’ he explained, chuckling a bit at the end. Sherlock joined in because really that was ridiculous, and then they were both laughing about disgusting feet next to a Petri dish filled with toenails. 

Later, they were sitting side by side on the floor, leaning against Sherlock’s bed, as Sherlock continued to read his book, and John flicked through the pages of a scientific journal he’d found buried under a pile of old magazines. 

‘Have you made any friends at uni, then?’ John asked. Sherlock shrugged, not really up to explaining why he had no friends and nobody liked him. ‘No?’ 

‘People are idiots.’ 

‘Oh. Do they not like the deduction thing you do?” 

Sherlock all but snorted. Dislike was hardly an appropriate term to describe how people felt about him and his deductions. 

‘That would be a no, then.’ A few more moments of silence before John spoked again. ‘Well, fuck them.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Sherlock stared at him wide-eyed, his book forgotten next to him. 

‘You heard him. If those posh pricks can’t see how brilliant you are, then it’s their loss,’ John said, his eyes were fierce with determination. Sherlock couldn’t help himself, it was like he had been struck by lightening and all his synapses had gone into short-circuit, so he leant forward and forward, closer and closer, until their faces were mere inches apart, and then closer still, capturing John’s lips with his own. And then his vision went blank because he had no idea what to do next. He’d never kissed anyone before, and John’s lips were surprisingly warm and soft. He was about to pull apart when a hand cupped his jaw and pulled him closer. John’s lips began moving against his own, slowly and deliberately, and Sherlock could taste him. John was warm all around as Sherlock draped his arms around his waist and pulled their bodies closer. 

They pulled apart after a few minutes, panting ever-so-slightly, foreheads touching, still breathing each other’s air. 

‘I—‘ 

‘Ssh,’ John quieted him by pulling him to another kiss. 

They would probably have to discuss this later, all the feelings and complications, but for now they were snowed in and comfortable and warm, and Sherlock could think of no better place to be than John’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> New series, omg! This one was just too silly, I can do nothing but apologise for that...
> 
> This is really exciting, though, I heaven't done one of these in ages! Anyway, I'm hoping to get this challenge done before series 3 airs on New Year's Day, which is why I started today. It might not happen, but we'll see. Still, I'll try not to put any spoilers because I am aware that people not from the UK might not be able to watch the show at the same time as we do. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this little sequel, and that you will like this series. Please leave a comment to let me know what you thought! :D 
> 
> As always, if you need to talk or whatever, I'm always on either my [writing blog](http://writingquill.tumblr.com) or on my [personal blog](http://bagginswatson.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Have a lovely day. 
> 
> Cheers x


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